Lost Love Rediscovered-Part Three
by Frannie Grace
Summary: Victor tries to stay in control as Emalynn's illness starts to take its toll.


**__**

Disclaimer: The Gunny and all people who are his fellow officers and workmates belong to CBS and David Bellisario. Emalynn Michaels and Daniel Rodreguiez, plus any doctors and nurses who you do not recognize are mine.

****

Author's Notes: This is part three of the **Lost Love Rediscovered** story. There is discussion of cancer and other uncomfortable topics. There, warning giving. Read on.

****

Lost Love Rediscovered-Part Three

By Gayle F. Cox-Moffet

She was lying with her eyes closed, wearing a paper gown and looking very much her age under the shadowless florescence light. An IV bag had a tube connected to a needle that disappeared into the pale skin of her left wrist.

Victor had the doorjamb in a death grip, his knuckles so white they were matching the hospital sheets. He swallowed and tried to adjust to what he was seeing. It was happening, slowly, and Victor started to move forward one hesitant step at a time. He reached her bedside and touched her hand. It was warm. Emalynn was still there.

"Excuse me, are you supposed to be here?" A harried looking nurse with gray hair moved in front of Victor to look over Emalynn. 

"I'm Victor Galindez, Ma'am. Emalynn is a friend of mine."

"Friend, not family? You're not supposed to be in here."

"All of her family is in New Mexico. I'm the closest she has and I'm not leaving. Someone should be with her." Victor kept his voice quiet but firm.

The nurse finally turned and got a good look at Victor. She waggled her eyebrows. "Nice uniform. You're lucky I like uniforms. You can stay."

There was a slight cough that turned into a chuckle, and Victor and the nurse both turned their attention back to the bed. Emalynn had her eyes open and was laughing. "Amazing, Victor, what a uniform can get you." She coughed again, and her voice was a little brittle, but she was awake.

Victor waited in controlled impatience as the nurse checked Emalynn over and initialed a chart. She left with a smile towards Victor.

He smiled at Emalynn slightly and rolled his eyes. "I hate being a chick magnet."

Emalynn laughed again. "Don't say chick-magnet. You can't pull it off." She looked up at Victor and followed his gaze tot he IV bag. "It's saline. They're putting it in because they're knocking me out to put the shunt in."

"Shunt?"

"It's how the chemo goes in. They wanted to use my old shunt entrance, but it's been to long."

Victor pulled a chair closer and leaned against the bedrail. "How old were you the first time you got sick?"

"I wasn't sick. I had cancer. I have cancer."

"How old were you the first time you got cancer?"

Emalynn thought back, "Twenty-no, twenty-one. I was almost through college."

"I didn't realized you were so young."

"I was. Cancer usually doesn't hit that early, but it did. I was feeling kind of fluish one day, and it stuck around, so I went to the campus infirmary. The woman who gave me my exam found a lump."

Victor watched Emalynn's face. She looked so impassive. "Did it hurt?"

"Yes. The shunt is uncomfortable, and then there's the nausea and the feeling of being completely wiped out."

"You were married by then. How did Daniel react?"

Emalynn smiled. "I knew you were going to ask."

Victor shrugged one shoulder. "You said it was an emotionless marriage. I'm curious as to if he was emotionless the first time you had cancer."

"Daniel was perfect as a husband the first time. He doted on me. Made sure I was comfortable, let me dictate my columns and stories for him to type. He was perfect."

"What happened?"

"Victor, I'm tired."

He nodded. "Okay." He shifted in his chair and leaned back, watching as Emalynn turned away from him and closed her eyes. "I'll be back later."

Emalynn didn't answer until Victor was almost completely out the door. "Bye, Victor."

*

Victor set a cup of tea on the endtable that housed his books and reached for the phone. He dialed eleven digits and waited for the connection to pick up.

"Sheriff's Office."

"To whom am I speaking?"

"This is Deputy Akins. Whose this?"

Victor grinned. He remembered Akins. Good officer with a sharp sense of humor. "Akins, this is Victor Galindez. Do you remember me?"

Three was a whoop on the other end of the phone. "Galindez? No way. Last I heard, Galindez got to old and creaky to take care of a sleeping pill town and ran away like a fraidy-cat to get chair butt as a deskman at some law office. And he's going bald."

Victor laughed. "Watch it, Akins. I may be old and creaky, but my butt's still in better shape than yours, and you're not one to talk baldness."

"True. True. So what can I do for you, Galindez?"

"I need you to find a number for me. Did you know Emalynn Michaels?"

"Michaels? Yeah, she came in and interviewed the whole department when the county threatened budget cutbacks."

"Interviews all for of you; did she?"

Akin's made a sarcastic, indignant noise over the phone. "There's six of us, thank you, and if you want her number, check your phonebook. She's moved."

"I know. I need the number for her husband." Victor ignored the taste in his mouth at saying the word.

"Daniel Rodreguiez? Hold on, let me look it up." There was a soft thunk as the phone was set down, and a shuffling of papers before Akins got back on the line. "Found it."

Victor wrote it down on the pad by the phone, cracked a couple more jokes with Akins, and hung up the phone. He stared at the number in his hand. He could call and find out everything about the emotionally-deprived jerk that wouldn't sign divorce papers, or he could leave it alone and got back to see Emalynn.

"Hello?"

"Is this Daniel Rodreguiez?"

"Yes, who is this?"

"This is Victor Galindez. I don't think we've ever met."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. "I know who you are. Emalynn always talked about you. What do you want?"

_She always talked about me?_ Victor forced his attention back to the discussion at hand. "She's at George Washington Memorial. She started chemotherapy today."

"And?"

"I thought you'd like to know."

"Why?"

Victor felt the sick taste coming back up his throat. "Because she's your wife."

"Wives don't live halfway across the county."

"She's dying."

"She doesn't want me around."

"You son-" Victor stopped when he realized he was talking to a dead line. "Damn bastard." He slammed down the phone and threw the pen across the room instead of his tea mug, which he knew would make a more satisfying noise, but a bigger mess. He didn't want to deal with a mess. He had the feeling he had already made a big enough one.

*

Over the next week, Victor developed a routine. He would wake up, exercise, show, and dress, and eat a quick breakfast before going to the hospital to be with Emalynn. She always tried to make him leave.

"Victor, you have work." Her voice was slow and drawn-out. The chemo treatments made her tired.

"I have some time off." He would usually lay next to her on the bed as they talked. The only people who ever touched Emalynn were doctors and nurses, and the impersonal nature left her craving real human contact. 

"Don't you have to pay rent or bills?"

"I have savings." Victor smiled. "I'm fine where I'm at."

Emalynn finally got mad at him at the end of the week. "Damnit, Victor! I'm locked inside here all day everyday, and the only way I'm going to find out what's happening outside of here is if someone I know is out there! I can't read the newspaper. I want real stories."

He heard the plea in her voice, and he felt his throat tighten. Emalynn needed the world. She was used to being in the world. She was used to being in the center of everything. She was so far on the sidelines she was in the bleachers. Victor honored her request and went to see Chegwidden. Together, they worked out a plan. Victor started working again three days a week. After work, he would visit Emalynn and give her detail after detail of his day as she laughed at the absurdity of the JAG office. On his days off and weekends, he would spend mornings in the park, or on buses or in malls and just watch people. It became a game.

"I saw a man in a three-piece suit with a little dog under one arm." Victor would start the game with a quick description of someone.

Emalynn would fire back questions. "Tall or short?"

"Tall. Six feet, maybe a little more."

"Complexion?"

"Olive."

"Hair?"

"Black, high and tight."

"Build?"

"Tall, stocky, lots of muscle. I could see it even with the suit."

"What kind of dog was it?"

"It looked like it was a miniature pincher or Doberman. I'm not sure."

Emalynn could grill him for hours on people he'd seen. She had to ask questions. It was the only way she could stay remotely herself.

After her first round of chemo, the doctors told Emalynn it wasn't going as well as they'd hoped. They kept her in the hospital. She was going nuts.

"Victor, I need out." She was sitting in a wheelchair letting him push her down the hall. "I need out. I want to dance, or see the _Post_ bullpen or tiptoe through the tulips. I don't care at this point. I need out."

"Emalynn, you're too tired to dance."

'No, I'm not."

Victor touched her shoulder. "You're having trouble walking because you're worn down and it's probably because I keep you up most nights talking."

"You're not leaving Victor. I need good conversation. Take me to the _Post_, and I promise I'll kick you out before visiting hours are over." Emalynn leaned her head back and smiled at him. "Please?"

_I'm a pushover._ "I'll talk to the doctor."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." Victor's watch beeped, and he turned the wheelchair towards Emalynn's room. "Time for your chemo."

"Oh, good. Something new."

Victor said nothing. He met the nurse at the door, squeezed Emalynn's shoulder, and sat down outside her room. He had wanted to understand what Emalynn was going through. Emalynn refused to let him in the room when she had her chemotherapy. Victor had learned to wait in the hallway. He usually used the time to think.

_She's not getting better. She's going to die. God, I love her._ Victor tended to shift to different thoughts at that point. Emalynn was still married, technically. She was sick. She wanted a friend, not a romantic involvement. He sighed and dropped his head in his hands.

_She's dying._ His eyes burned as he attempted not to cry. He wouldn't cry. Emalynn didn't need that. She needed Victor to make her smile and laugh and keep her alert to the world outside the four, white, pristine walls she was sequestered in.

_I have to do something for her._ He stood up and walked down the hall, not bothering to tell Emalynn he was leaving. She usually slept after chemo, so he had a couple of hours to get together what he needed. First stop was the grocery store. There was a fresh produce store near the hospital, and Victor managed to find most of his sauce ingredients there. There were clams in the back, but Victor was hesitant to buy. He usually purchased his clams in Baltimore, but he didn't have the time to get there. He settled for a place three blocks from his apartment where the clams were kept on ice in a cooler corner of the store.

He went home, put a pot of water on the stove, and laid out his ingredients on the counter. The phone rang, and Victor grabbed the cordless as he poured tomato paste into an empty pot. "Hello?"

"Victor Galindez?"

"Yes."

"This is Daniel Rodregieuz. How's my wife?"

"Husbands don't live halfway across the country." Victor hung up the phone and started slicing up clams as he fought his temper down. Rodregieuz had called twice before to check on Emalynn after Victor's initial contact. He still refused to sign the divorce papers, and Victor always hung up on him. He was starting to hate that man-_Daniel_-everytime he called he sounded like he was asking for weather conditions. He never called her Emalynn. It was either 'my wife' or 'she'. It made Victor sick. The emotional detachment Emalynn had told him about was very true.

He almost crushed the tomato as he sliced it and forced himself to stop a moment before he cut off a finger. Victor gripped the countertop and breathed out hard. _How can he not care?_


End file.
